


Darcy Loses Her Heart and Natasha Always Gets Her Way

by megster



Series: In These Small Hours [9]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:51:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megster/pseuds/megster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy doesn't mean to fall in love. In fact, she tries not to. But sometimes, things are just beyond her control and things happen. And then feelings happen.<br/>Also, shit doesn't get done without Natasha. It really doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darcy Loses Her Heart and Natasha Always Gets Her Way

**Author's Note:**

> I have been having such a hard time writing lately. It's like I've hit some roadblock of al;ksdjfl;akdjsfk. But this was just supposed to be an exercise on Darcy and the Avengers, then it became a story of Darcy and how she learns to love and then it became a story of the gorgeous relationship that is Darcy and Bruce (inside my head). It was also only supposed to be around 1000 words, but it got away from me.
> 
> A large part of the story was inspired by the lovely John Green quote from The Fault in our Stars, which is a gorgeous book. One of the characters states that "[y]ou don't get to choose who to hurt in this world... but you do have some say in who hurts you." At the heart of it all, this is a story about Darcy choosing who gets to hurt her.
> 
> Also, this is completely unrelated, but to all the people who write Clint/Phil beautifully, kudos to you, because I am having SUCH a hard time with them. I just can't get them to feel right and it is a world of frustration to me because they are my absolute favorites. I've been trying SO hard to get a series started for them and nothing sounds or feels right. UGH.
> 
> tl;dr: I'm sorry I haven't been writing but college and stuff gets in the way. I swear I'm trying. Also, Bucky is a bitch to characterize because I don't want to get him wrong.

Darcy falls in love entirely by accident.

It’s unlike her, because yeah, sometimes she can be rash and prone to carelessness, but she guards her heart closely.

All through high school and college, Darcy watches her friends as they get their hearts broken by this boy, or this girl. She sits with them during movie nights with a tub of ice cream and more alcohol than is technically healthy and listens to them cry and talk. She goes on her fair share of dates, because _hello_ , she’s no Quasimodo, and a little fun never hurt anyone.

She can’t bring quite herself to really care about anyone beyond her family, though. Anyone else is a liability, and she likes her heart to stay in tact. (Of course, when she’s in grad school, her favorite grandfather dies and she figures that maybe it’s impossible for a human heart to stay in perfect condition after all.)

Then she becomes Jane’s intern, and this brilliant but absent-minded young woman becomes the best friend she never wanted. She consoles Jane over botched experiments, or erratic results, goes to seedy bars with her, and learns that human nature seeks out company.

When Thor quite literally falls into their midst, Darcy can’t help but adore this god amongst humans, this blue-eyed prince with the flowing locks of golden hair and a heart big enough to hold all nine realms. He’s such a fucking cliche, Darcy doesn’t even know how he’s possible. But he exists, and he’s Thor, and she loves him (platonically, because _Jesus_ this boy is gone over Jane). Of course she loves him, and she sighs when she realizes it, and promises to herself to guard herself more carefully in the future.

Then the Tesseract happens, and the Avengers happen, and suddenly Darcy isn’t in New Mexico anymore.

*          *          *

When she moves into her room in Stark- wait, no, _Avengers_ Tower, she actually says aloud, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” because she’s always been a little bit fond of a good cliche (obviously, because _God_ , just _look_ at Thor).

She loses the next piece of her heart to Tony. Maybe she just has a predilection for scientists who are unable to take proper care of themselves (see: Jane Foster). It’s unexpected though, because when she initially meets Tony, she writes him off as a little douchey and a lot spoiled. She figures that maybe a lot of people write him off for the same reason, and she suspects he gives off the vibe on purpose, to prevent people from getting close. She can understand that, of course she can, because isn’t she the one who planned to go through life without a broken heart? But then there’s a bad battle, and Steve takes the brunt of it and nearly dies, enhanced healing factor be damned, and Tony disappears into his workshop immediately afterwards. Darcy goes down at the beginning of the third day, bearing fresh coffee and food, and finds Tony meticulously crafting an adamantium-enforced suit for Steve. It’s the first time she realizes how much he cares about the others, and as she watches him work, hands sure and sharp brown eyes focused on the fabric, her heart gives a twinge, and she thinks, _Damn it, Lewis. What happened to keeping emotions out of it?_

After Tony, it doesn’t surprise her anymore. The others are all terribly easy to love.

*           *          *

She calls her mother once a month, and although her mother knows she works with the famous Avengers, she didn’t think that her mother knew how deep her attachment to them went. Until one conversation a few months into working for S.H.I.E.L.D., when her mother says, “Darcy-dearest, be careful. What will you do when one of them doesn’t come home?”

Darcy is stunned into silence, manages stammer a goodbye, and admits wryly to herself that if she was trying to protect herself from pain, she could probably do better than to learn to love a group of superheroes that spend most days in mortal peril.

She can’t help it, though. After Tony, it’s like a dam breaking.

*          *          *

She gets drunk with Clint one night, and he divulges parts of his childhood to her. He doesn’t remember telling her anything, but Darcy can’t forget anything he told her, even if she wants to, and as a result she’s terribly protective of him. For the first time, she consciously makes the decision to allow herself to love him, because Clint, for all his sarcasm and quick wit, hasn’t had enough people looking out for him. 

She could love Phil just for loving Clint, for the way his fingers brush Clint’s, the way he’s always attentive to where Clint is in the room, the way he takes Clint into his arms after a hard op. But of course, she gets to know Phil in his own right, and loves him for himself. His competence, and calm in the face of disaster, and his ability to still believe in heroes and the greater good.

As for Steve, Darcy thinks she should get a pass on this one, because she’s pretty sure that no one who’s met Steve has managed to _not_ love him, just a little bit. It’s his eyes. And his innate sincerity. And the shy way he ducks his head when someone tries to compliment him. Also, his 1940’s chivalry is charming. Beyond that, beyond his terribly lovable personality, there’s the Steve who’s a little bit broken inside, the one she finds sitting on the roof, sketching the New York skyline not as it is, but as it was. And sometimes when she goes to sit by him, he looks at her and sees someone else, another dark-haired woman with a quick tongue. Darcy forgives him, because love is a cruel mistress, and life isn’t fair. She knows she’s setting herself up for pain, but she can’t help becoming friends with him. She can’t help that she loves him.

Natasha is terrifying. She really is. Darcy admires her, then idolizes her, then realizes that Natasha has found her way into Darcy’s heart just like the others. If she really thinks hard, she can pinpoint the exact moment she accepted Natasha into her little circle-of-people-she-was-never-supposed-to-love. It’s after the some debacle or other with the Mandarin, and Darcy had gone into Bruce’s room to find Natasha already there, perched neatly on his bed, reading softly from some giant Russian novel. Her voice is dark velvet, rolling across the room, and Bruce is sleeping, and Darcy meets Natasha’s eyes and sees fondness and protectiveness. Darcy smiles, because she can’t help it; this is one of the world’s most feared assassins, reading a bedtime story. Natasha’s lip twitches, as if she knows what Darcy is thinking, and right then, Darcy knows that she’s just given yet another person the power to hurt her.

So, yes, she’s lost pieces of her heart, but she hasn’t lost it completely. And then Bruce fucking Banner happens, and she’s fucked.

*          *          *

This is the thing about Bruce: He’s so used to being hated, so used to people avoiding contact with him, that he startles the first time Darcy touches him.

She apologizes, and he blushes (which is adorable, of course) and tells her that no, it’s perfectly fine, he’s just not used to people touching him. They never do, he tells her, sorrowful and bitter and a little wistful.

And because she’s a good, good person (and Bruce is a sweetheart, really, he is), she makes a point of casually touching him whenever possible. She leans against him during Tony’s movie nights, she hooks her arm through his when they’re walking through S.H.I.E.L.D., she reaches out and ruffles his hair when he’s working. It’s not enough, she knows. It’s not enough to make up for how people have treated him, how people _still_ treat him, but it’s what she can do. 

It’s worth it, to see him relax a little, and to see him begin to believe that people see him as more than the Hulk waiting to happen.

It’s worth it to see him smile that bashful smile.

*          *          *

The first time she realizes she’s really in trouble is when she and Jane and Thor are bar-hopping, and she tases a guy that says something bad about the Hulk.

“Over-reaction, much?” Jane says.

“I, too, was about to defend our companion’s honor,” Thor announces.

“You can do it next time, big guy,” Darcy says, stomach churning a little, because there is _no_ reason whatsoever for her to be quite so protective over Bruce. She tries to persuade herself that she would have reacted the same way if the idiot was bad-mouthing Tony, or Clint, but doesn’t quite believe it.

She calls her mother the next morning and says, “Mom, I’ve gone and done something stupid.”

Her mother is an exceptionally sharp woman. “Darcy,” she says sternly, “When you say stupid, do you mean affecting-national-security-stupid or you’ve-fallen-in-love-with-someone-you-shouldn’t-stupid?”

“The second, I think,” Darcy says.

“Just be careful,” her mother says softly.

“I tried,” Darcy says. “It was an accident.”

“I don’t think people fall in love on purpose, Darcy-dearest.”

*          *          *

Tony calls her out on it. Of course. At least they’re alone in the workshop.

“Darce,” he says, randomly. 

“Hmmm?” She isn’t paying much attention, because she’s trying to do something for Phil.

“If Bruce is just some sort of pity fuck or trophy fuck for you, I don’t think I condone. But if-”

He doesn’t get any further, because Darcy realizes what he’s just said, and slaps him resoundingly across his face. 

“How could you think that?” Darcy says, honestly hurt.

Tony glares at her. “That fucking hurt _._ And for the record, I don’t think that you’re just looking for a fuck. I’m just making sure. Can’t be too careful nowadays. Anyway, I guess you have my blessing now, yada yada yada.”

“Oh, _god_ ,” Darcy groans. “I don’t want your blessing.”

“Just,” Tony hesitates, which is strange, because Tony never hesitates.

“Out with it.”

“Just don’t give him another reason to distrust humanity, Darce. It’s hard for him.”

Darcy looks up from her papers. “I’d die before I did anything to hurt him. Anyway, if I ever did anything to hurt him, I’d probably be dead from you or Natasha.”

Tony grins. “You’re not wrong.”

“Don’t worry,” Darcy says. “I’ll have him home by midnight.”

“Who do you think you are? Prince Charming? Your boobs are bigger. Also, is my face red? I bet my face is red. Did you _have_ to hit me that hard? Because I didn’t actually mean...”

She rolls her eyes and tunes him out, returning to her paperwork, but she takes Tony’s warning to heart, and can’t help being terribly pleased that he cares enough about Bruce to address it with her.

*          *          *

“You have no room to talk,” Darcy protests halfheartedly, glaring at Jane. They’re having a girls night, sans Natasha, because Natasha is on a mission in god-knows-where.

“I certainly don’t,” Pepper says from her corner. She takes a sip of her martini. “I fell in love with my boss, who then got kidnapped, underwent major heart surgery in a cave, then became a superhero.”

Jane shrugs. “I’m just saying, maybe we’re all a little mental. You more than most.”

“Why?” Darcy demands. “Is it the rage monster thing? He’s got it under control.”

Jane gives her a glance. “Well, a little, but the Hulk seems to like you. I just think Bruce has the most drastic fight-or-flight response I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“So what?” Darcy says. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. It won’t get anywhere. He doesn’t like me, not like that.”

Jane and Pepper exchange a pitying look between them.

“Darcy,” Jane says, “Have you _seen_ Bruce around you lately? He perks up like a happy puppy when you’re in the same room as him.”

Pepper shakes her head. “No, he doesn’t.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Darcy starts, but Pepper keeps going.

“Bruce is more subtle than that. But Darcy, you keep him from running. You must see that.”

Darcy stares into her shotglass. 

“You’re good for him, Darcy. Tony thinks so too.” Pepper’s voice is kind.

Darcy grins. “Oh, I know what Tony thinks.”

*          *         *

She’s so far removed now from the girl who didn’t want to care that she can’t even remember how she used to keep herself apart.

In the dark of night, though, she sometimes half-wishes that she could go back to being that girl who was detached from everything and everyone, because that’s when she didn’t have to worry about being hurt.

Her heart breaks a little every time one of the Avengers comes back hurt or nearly dead, every time one of them wakes up from a nightmare with their eyes blank. 

She does the best she can, though, doing whatever she can to make things better. She watches Tony in his workshop as he tinkers and quietly sits next to Steve as sketches. She plays chess with Natasha, even though Natasha always beats her. She keeps Phil busy with paperwork, or takes it away from him, depending on the situation. She goes and watches movies with Clint and gets roaringly drunk afterwards. She curls up against Bruce on his couch as he reads, falling asleep on his shoulder more often than not.

She has nightmares of her own now. She’s terrified that one day there will be a battle or a mission that not all of them will make it back from. 

She thinks it might kill her. She thinks she might die of a broken heart. 

This is just what she was trying to avoid, all these years.

*          *          *

“ _Where is he_?” Darcy knows she’s a mess, with blood on her jacket and her skirt ripped to hell, but she just hadn’t been dressed for an interdimensional invasion, _sorry_. She hadn’t even been with Phil and the team today.

The agent isn’t one she knows. More’s the pity; the regulars would just point her in the right direction.

“Ma’am,” she says, taking in Darcy. “I don’t think-”

“I’m Darcy Lewis, and if you don’t tell me where Dr. Banner is _right now,_ I will make sure Director Fury finds out how incompetent you are.”

The poor girl stammers, “They just took him back to medical.”

Darcy throws up her hands. “Why didn’t you just _say_ so?!”

She turns and breaks into a run and bumps into Thor.

He’s weary, which is strange in and of itself, but when he notices her, he straightens a little. “Lady Darcy, can I be of assistance?”

Darcy shakes her head. He needs to rest, and Phil needs him to debrief with the others. “I’ll be fine,” she says, although she doesn’t _feel_ fine, because the Hulk is supposed to be fucking _indestructible_. That’s the _point_ of the Hulk, to be indestructible.

“If I may,” Thor says, “That S.H.I.E.L.D. agent over there seems to have neglected his motored bicycle.”

“Motorcycle, Thor. Motorcycle.” But she spots the abandoned bike at once and sprints for it, waving to Thor in thanks.

“Lewis,” Phil says in her ear. 

“Agent Coulson,” she says. “I’m sorry, but I think I’m going to be inclined to disobey any orders you give me right now.”

“Stay with him,” Phil says. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

Darcy feels a twinge of gratitude. “Thank you,” she says. “I will.”

She jumps on the motorcycle, ignores the shouts behind her, and takes off for medical.

When she gets to headquarters, she puts in a call to Fury. “Director Fury,” she says. “I need in.”

“Lewis,” he says, “You’re supposed to keep your ass with Coulson.”

“Sorry sir,” she says. “New orders.” It’s sort of true. Phil had told her to come here.

“The doctors know what they’re doing, Lewis. Don’t bother them.” 

That’s as close to assent as she’s going to get, so she says, “Understood, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Fury must have put the word out, or maybe the medical workers are just used to letting her barge in, because she makes it to Bruce’s room with no trouble.

He’s conscious, but delirious, pupils blown wide in terror. She turns to a doctor who’s rushing out of the room and says, “What’s wrong with him?”

The doctor shrugs. “We’re running tests. The Hulk was shielding the Captain and Hawkeye when he got hit with the full force of the ray. It affected him badly.” He looks at Darcy. “Are you Darcy?”

She nods.

“He’s been asking for you and Mr. Stark. Go on in, see if you can make him calm down.”

She doesn’t wait for him to change his mind, going immediately to Bruce. He’s strapped in, restraints around his arms and legs and torso. He’s breathing quickly, wildly, eyes darting back and forth. He doesn’t seem to see her. 

“Please,” he says. “Please let me go.” He strains ineffectively at the straps holding him down.

Darcy bites her lip, because this is the first time she’s ever seen Bruce totally out of control (and yes, she’s aware of the irony of that statement).

Then, because she doesn’t know what else to do, and human contact seems to calm him, she basically climbs on top of him, pressing herself to him, laying her head on his chest.

He stops pulling at the restraints and appears to notice her for the first time. “Darcy?” he says, voice hoarse.

“Hey,” she says, leaning back to give him some space. “What’s going on with you?”

“Um,” Bruce says, sounding mostly lucid now, “Hallucinations. Enhanced sensitivity to noise and light. Heightened paranoia. My head is throbbing. Other than that, I’m okay. Physically I’m perfectly fine.”

“You guys got that?” Darcy looks around to see a nurse scribbling on a clipboard and nodding at her. She turns her attention back to Bruce, who is a little pale, but looking mostly okay. “You scared me,” she says softly, because she doesn’t know what else she can say.

It’s all she can think. _You scared me. You scared me. God, I was so scared._

Her hands are shaking when she unbuckles Bruce from the restraints, quelling the nurse’s protests with a glare.

She doesn’t realize she’s crying from relief until Bruce reaches for her face and brushes away a tear.

*          *         *

After that, things shift a little between them.

Apparently stealing a motorcycle, driving on the sidewalk to get to headquarters, then barging past security and putting in a call to Nick Fury isn’t actually a normal reaction to a _coworker_ getting hurt. Darcy thinks maybe they should make an exception for this case, because really, how many times has any sort of _anything_ gotten to Bruce?

In any case, there’s something between them, certainly. The easy camaraderie is still there, to her relief- she still brings him tea or coffee and he still makes her omelettes. She still sits next to him on movie nights and falls asleep on his shoulder. He still comes to find her when he’s developed some new formula or something, and while she never understands it, she lets him make her dinner and talk about it, watches him as he comes alive, eyes sparkling and hands overflowing with gestures.

But something’s different. Sometimes, she catches him looking at her with a strange look on his face. Sometimes, he holds onto her hand for a little longer than necessary, then realizes it, blushes, and apologizes. Sometimes, she wakes up briefly after falling asleep on him, and he has an arm around her, with his hand stroking her hair gently.

She thinks that maybe, if she tried kissing him, he would kiss back.

Or he would run. 

She’s not willing to risk it yet.

*          *          *

“You know,” Clint says one day, casually, “Phil and I didn’t get together until after I was in a coma for three weeks.”

“Um,” Darcy says. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

They’re making dinner for the team, because Clint’s a good cook, and he claims that Darcy is the best helper (sous chef, she tells him sternly).

“I’m thinking maybe I should put you or Bruce in one,” he explains, grinning as he throws the vegetables in the pan. “And I think the Hulk won’t let Bruce be in a coma, so it’s gotta be you.”

Darcy’s cutting the tails and heads off of the fresh striper bass, and nicks her finger in shock. “Shit,” she says. “Clint, you made me bleed on the fish.”

Clint hands her a towel and takes over, continuing chopping after cleaning off the bloody fish. “You two are almost as bad as we were.”

“Worse,” Natasha declares from the doorway.

Darcy jumps. “For the love of Thor,” she says, exasperated. “It’s not any of your business.”

“I beg to differ,” Natasha says. “You pine after him, he pines after you, and neither of you are as happy as you could be. It’s our job, as _friends_ , to make sure that you’re at optimum happiness levels at all times. Make a move, Darcy, before Clint and I make it for you.”

“Or Tony does,” Darcy grumbles under her breath, but she’s smiling. “I’ll keep it in mind,” she says aloud, and stirs the vegetables.

*          *          *

Darcy falls in love entirely by accident.

It only makes sense that the first time she kisses Bruce, it’s entirely by accident as well.

Or, at least, as accidental as a kiss can get. She certainly didn’t quite think it through.

What happens is this: It’s Christmastime, and they’re all at some charity gala that Stark Industries hosts every year. All the Avengers are coerced into making an appearance by Fury, who insists that some positive PR never hurt anyone. 

It’s going fine, and Darcy’s dress is gorgeous (she went shopping with Pepper... with Tony’s credit card). She’s enjoying herself, tolerating even the most annoying guests and dancing with Clint, who’s very light on his feet and undoubtedly the best dancer of all of them. Also, he makes snide remarks into her ear, which she finds both entertaining and therapeutic.

It’s all peachy-keen, but of course this is _her_ life, so nothing can go perfectly for very long.

Clint says, “TIme for a partner switch, I think,” and dips her. 

“Okay,” Darcy says, feeling, for lack of a better word, rather bubbly from the three glasses of champagne she’s had.

He passes her off to Bruce without warning, and Darcy vaguely wonders if she should be angry about his not-so-subtle matchmaking tactics.

But really, Bruce looks terribly uncomfortable, and it occurs to her that maybe Clint was more concerned about Bruce than about setting them up, so she forgives him and gives Bruce a smile.

“Not your scene, Dr. Banner?”

“Not quite,” he says, as he leads her through the dance. It’s a very traditional waltz, and honestly, Darcy never expected to be ballroom dancing with superheroes, but here she is.

“You’re a good dancer, you know,” she tells him. It’s true. He’s not Clint, but he’s graceful and leads well.

He smiles and ducks his head. “I don’t mind the dancing,” he admits. “It’s more the large crowds thing. And all of the high society women sort of glare at me when Tony’s not looking.”

“Well now,” Darcy says, “Can’t be having that.”

And she pulls him to the refreshments table, where said high society ladies were, indeed, looking down their noses at Bruce.

She keeps a hold of his hand as she goes to the enormous fondue fountain. “This was my idea,” she says, grinning at Bruce. “I wanted a fondue fountain. And Tony figured, hell, why not?”

Bruce grins back, amusement lighting his features for a moment. Darcy, emboldened by the champagne, dips a strawberry in and offers it to him.

He rolls his eyes, but lets her place it into his mouth.

“Young woman,” a voice says, sounding scandalized.

Bruce tenses, and shuts down in front of her eyes; he folds into himself, gaze finding the ground, shoulders bowed a little.

Darcy takes a deep breath to calm herself. She turns to face the voice, and finds it belongs to one of the aforementioned high society women.

“Yes?” She’s trying not to sound pissed, but she is, because she was _finally_ getting Bruce to enjoy himself.

“Do you know who that man is?” The hag is wearing her nametag. It says “Margaret Trent.”

“Actually, Ms. Trent, I do,” Darcy says coldly. “He happens to be one of my best friends.”

“That man is a menace,” Margaret Trent says. “You ought to stay away from him, pretty young lady like you.”

Darcy positively blazes with fury, turns to Bruce, grabs him, and kisses him full on the mouth. 

Bruce gives a soft cry as she pulls him in, but reciprocates after a moment.

And, um, wow, Bruce is a better kisser than he is a dancer, and he was a pretty good dancer.

It’s a longer kiss than she had planned, but let’s face it, she hadn’t planned this kiss at all. Bruce pulls away first, blushing.

Margaret Trent is nowhere to be seen.

Darcy just smiles, because she can’t possibly do anything else but grin like an idiot, because she kissed Bruce and he kissed her back.

“Um,” she says. “I would say I’m sorry, but I’m really not.”

Bruce looks at her. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into,” he says gently. “We can put this behind us.”

Darcy stares at him. “I know exactly what I’m getting into, because I’m already neck-deep in it. Also, why the _fuck_ would I want to put that behind me?”

He looks around them, looking a little harried. “Let’s talk somewhere quieter,” he says.

Darcy lets him lead her out of the main ballroom and into the kitchen, where there’s serving staff bustling in and out, but nobody seems to mind them being there.

“Darcy,” he says seriously. “You don’t want to get involved with me. You’re going to end up getting hurt.”

She looks at him evenly. The buzz from the champagne has disappeared entirely. “Tell me you want me to leave you alone, and we’ll go back to being friends. I won’t act differently, I promise. If you really don’t to do this, tell me and I swear I’ll listen. But I swear to Thor, if you’re trying to protect me or be noble somehow by letting me go or some shit like that, I will get Natasha to kill you.”

Bruce doesn’t meet her eyes. “Darcy-” 

“Bruce, I am serious. Tell me you don’t want me and I’ll leave you alone. But don’t lie to me.”

She watches him, trying to pretend that she didn’t just put her heart on the line, and Jesus Christ, she is a fucking walking cliche tonight, isn’t she?

She sees the moment he decides, sees exactly when he makes his choice.

Before he can say anything, she acts.

She falls in love entirely by accident.

The first kiss is entirely unplanned.

The second kiss is entirely deliberate, and Darcy thinks that perhaps her heart is a little more fragile than before, but it’s building calluses. 

*          *          *

Natasha smiles as she watches Bruce and Darcy leave the gala together, hand in hand. Margaret Trent stands beside her, arms crossed. 

“Miss Romanov,” she says sternly. “Was that entirely necessary?”

Natasha turns her smile on Margaret Trent. It takes on a wicked curl around the corners of her mouth. “It was absolutely necessary, ma’am. But you can take off that nametag, now.”

Phil spots them, wanders over, and pulls a face. “Natasha, I don’t like it when you talk to my mother without me. It worries me, the things you two get up to.”

The two women exchange an amused glance. 

“Phillip, dear,” his mother says, “Natasha and I get along so very well. You’ve no cause to worry at all.”

“That’s exactly what worries me,” Phil says. “By the way, did I see Darcy and Bruce leave together?”

Natasha nods innocently.

Phil narrows his eyes at her, then relents. “They were getting ridiculous.”

“They were,” Natasha agrees. Then she grins. “Tony owes me a hundred dollars. I bet him Bruce and Darcy would get together before Christmas.”

Phil’s mother glares at her. “Is _that_ why-”

“Here comes Tony,” Natasha says flatly. “Not a word to anyone, understand?”

She gracefully makes her way towards Tony, hand held out expectantly.

Phil looks at his mother. “Did you have something to do with-”

She smiles at him. “Of course not, dear.”

“No,” Phil says to himself. “Of _course_ you didn’t.”

He sighs. His life has certainly gotten progressively stranger with the passing of every year. He can’t believe that his mother was playing cupid with his personal assistant and Bruce Banner. He thinks about it for a moment, and decides that actually, it's just about par for the course. 

He goes to find Clint, and makes a mental note to inform Fury of the developments in the morning.

 


End file.
